


Sane Men In Night Vale

by WitchyBee



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Gen, In which Steve Carlsberg is not really a jerk, Some angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-22
Updated: 2013-12-22
Packaged: 2018-01-05 13:05:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1094190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WitchyBee/pseuds/WitchyBee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Now, listeners, I can’t imagine why a smart man like Carlos would ever be seen in the company of that jerk, Steve Carlsberg. They were allegedly having what sounded like a friendly conversation, although it is not clear exactly what was being said, because Steve Carlsberg has no respect for the tireless efforts of the Sheriff’s Secret Police to keep us all safe, and so takes every opportunity he can to make their surveillance duties even harder.</p><p>I mean, I thought Carlos was a good judge of character. Could I have been so wrong about a person, listeners? Could it be that he is just like all those previous outsiders who have come to study Night Vale, but either met gruesome fates or ran away shrieking, minds unhinged by all they had seen and failed to understand? I hope not, dear listeners. I hope there is a scientific explanation.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sane Men In Night Vale

**Author's Note:**

> Set shortly after Carlos' arrival in Night Vale. I'm not sure exactly when, but pretty early in the series. Probably before Glow Cloud.

The mysterious note slipped under his door in the middle of the night reads:

_Carlos the Scientist,_

_I’m sure you’ve had enough time to figure out that this town is insane. It isn’t normal. Hell, normalcy doesn’t even exist here. People are worse than ignorant of the truth; they willingly and gladly accept lies fed to them. You haven’t been killed by some unnatural disaster yet, and you haven’t left town even though you should, so I’m hoping you will at least listen to what I have to say._

_You’ll need my help, Carlos, if you want to survive here, and I mean that literally._

_Meet me at the Moonlite All-Night Diner at exactly 11:11pm tomorrow. Come alone, and by that I mean make sure you aren’t followed by any suspicious cacti or lampposts or unmarked helicopters._

_Burn this note, then dissolve the ashes in hydrochloric acid._

_Good luck,_

_A Sane Man In Night Vale_

. . .

So that’s how Carlos ends up occupying one of the diner’s empty tables. It is 11:05pm according to his watch, but it feels like a few hours past midnight. He looks over the menu, fascinated by the Moonlite All-Night’s selection of both visible and invisible pastries, ham milkshakes (among other odd flavors), and Dodo bird egg omelets. He just orders coffee.

There is a radio on somewhere nearby. Carlos can faintly hear what sounds like chanting in a language he doesn’t know, but then it stops, and another sound takes its place.

“Today is a new day. Or is it? You cannot be certain. Perhaps you have lived through this day before and do not remember it,” intones a deep, sonorous voice. “Welcome...to Night Vale.”

The waitress brings his coffee, which she says is free for scientists. It looks normal enough, so Carlos takes a risk and drinks it. Everyone else in the diner, customers and staff alike, all at once stop their previous activities and begin listening to the radio intently. He’s gathered that this event holds great significance in the community.

Carlos hadn’t been prepared for Night Vale, in retrospect. How do you relinquish every basic scientific law you were so certain would always be true? He had anticipated a degree of inexplicable phenomena, braced himself for the unknown, and now it appears that most of what Carlos knew doesn’t apply here at all. Night Vale consistently refuses to fit his definition of how things, like physics, should work. In fact, that is the only consistency about this place he’s observed so far.

At precisely 11:11pm, a tan Corolla pulls into the almost empty parking lot. A lone man gets out of his car and enters the Moonlite All-Night Diner. He nervously glances over his shoulder and scans the room before coming over to Carlos’ table. Normally this kind of behavior would seem paranoid. Of course, Night Vale is far from normal.

“Steve Carlsberg, town pariah,” he says quietly, offering his hand for Carlos to shake.

“Carlos, um...scientist. I got your note,” he replies, which is a stupid thing to say, really, since it’s they wouldn’t be having this conversation right now otherwise.

“No you didn’t,” Steve says firmly. He then sits down across from Carlos. His hands are folded on the tabletop, but they’re never still, fingers moving restlessly as though he can’t quite figure out what to do with his hands. His fingernails have been bitten down very short. “I didn’t write a note. I certainly did not write it in pen. Got that?”

“Yeah...okay. I got that. So...what do you want to talk to me about?”

“Listen, Carlos, I want to help you. To explain things. You haven’t been here very long, and you deserve to know the truth. I’m not like them, okay? I understand how fucking crazy this town is. I won’t look at you like you’re an idiot for not knowing what the hell a bloodstone circle is used for.”

“You’re an outsider, too,” Carlos realizes. “You weren’t born in Night Vale.”

“Yeah. I lived in Phoenix. Had a wife, a child on the way…” Steve glances down at his hands, biting his lip absently. His beady eyes turn sad and distant. “I was a...well, I guess you’d call me a conspiracy theorist. I drove into the desert one weekend, hoping to see a UFO with my own eyes. Instead I found Night Vale, where conspiracies aren’t a theory, just an obvious fact of everyday life. People here don’t appreciate logic, Carlos, or ideas that haven’t been municipally approved. Remember that.”

“Why haven’t you left if you hate living here so much?”

“You don’t think I’ve tried?” He laughs bitterly. “I drove for miles out of town, but eventually the road looped back around somehow and I ended up exactly where I’d started. Once, I got so desperate to leave that I just walked into the desert. Kept walking until I couldn’t even see Night Vale anymore. Next thing I know, I’m waking up in my own bed like it was all a dream, except it couldn’t have been because I had a terrible sunburn. I got the message after that; I can’t go home.”

“I’m sorry,” Carlos says, and it feels insufficient. He wonders if Night Vale will allow him to leave, or his team of fellow scientists, for that matter.

Steve shakes his head dismissively. “Enough about me, though, we’re supposed to be talking about you. Yours isn’t the first group of scientists to come here seeking answers, you know. It’s admirable what you’re trying to do. Probably futile, but still admirable.”

“Thanks. What happened to them? The scientists who came here before, I mean.”

“Some of them ran off. Others disappeared. But most of them died, Carlos. The fatality rate in Night Vale is staggering. Even holidays are deadly; they aren’t nice festive occasions like everywhere else. I thought someone should warn you about this stuff. If you’re determined to stay, then maybe I can make things a little easier.”

“All right. What do I need to know?” Carlos asks. He isn’t going anywhere. This place might drive him mad, but he won’t run away until he knows what he’s running from.

“First thing is: you’re being watched. We all are, pretty much constantly, by the Sheriff’s Secret Police. It’s not much of a fucking secret, despite the name. They say it’s for our protection. Pretty unlikely, if you ask me.”

“Are they allowed to do that?” Carlos asks, equally concerned and intrigued.

“Apparently,” Steve shrugs. “Federal and state laws don’t really matter here. You have no right to privacy, but murder is technically legal, so there’s that. It’s a misdemeanor not to eat at Big Rico’s Pizza once a week, unfortunately. Oh, and the damn City Council has banned calculators and writing utensils, so be careful.”

“What? But I need to be able to take notes when I’m doing field research,” Carlos protests.

“Then I suggest you get an iPad or something,” he advises. “That’s the thing, see, it’s not about censorship. At least that would kind of make sense. But it’s literally about the pens and pencils. The Secret Police don’t care if you use a fucking toothpick dipped in paint.”

“Huh,” Carlos says intelligently. The waitress comes over and refills his coffee cup.

“It’s insane, I know. There are some banned things you can get a permit for if the Council is feeling generous, but there’s a mountain of paperwork involved, so it’s hardly worth the effort. There’s paperwork for most things, anyway.”

Carlos doesn’t say anything. He just sips his coffee, trying to process all of this.

“It’s a lot to take in,” Steve tells him sympathetically. “Truth is, we’ve barely scratched the surface. The most important thing to remember right now is this: listen to the radio when Cecil’s show comes on. It’s the only source of news since the Daily Journal is going under, and you don’t want to miss any vital warnings, law changes, or information about impending threats. Always listen to Cecil’s show, understand?”

“I understand.” Carlos nods, listening.

“And now,” announces the smooth voice on the radio. [“...the weather.”](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8AC5JvE61qc)

“Okay, maybe this isn’t a good example,” Steve admits. “But besides all that, Cecil has a huge amount of influence over the town, arguably more than the City Council or the Sheriff’s Secret Police. His opinion carries a lot of weight. Watch this. Hey, can I get some coffee, too?” he asks the waitress behind the counter. She just glares at him, so he turns back to Carlos. “See what I mean? You didn’t even have to pay for yours, I bet.”

“She said it was free for scientists.”

Steve grins. “Yeah, of course it is. I’m sure it doesn’t have anything to do with your perfect hair.”

“I think I should go soon,” Carlos says. “I have an early day tomorrow. We’re still studying that house that doesn’t exist.”

“Yeah, all right. Listen, remember what I said about the laws. Writing utensils. Mandatory Big Rico’s. The radio. All that stuff. We probably shouldn’t meet like this again; I don’t want my bad reputation to affect yours. Just keep in mind...some knowledge is forbidden in Night Vale. Don’t go investigating without understanding the risks. You don’t want to be re-educated.”

“What does that mean, Steve? What happens?”

“You don’t want to know,” Steve whispers. “Trust me. Just...go.”

Carlos exits the diner and gets into his car. When he turns his key in the ignition, the radio springs to life along with the engine. He briefly considers driving away into the vast desert, never stopping, and wonders if the road would let him leave Night Vale or if he is stuck here like Steve Carlsberg. It’s a terrifying thought. He shivers despite the warm evening air.

“Goodnight, Night Vale,” that man on the radio murmurs soothingly. “Goodnight.”


End file.
